Chapter 12

It wasn't worth it.

When would he learn? It was never worth it.

At the end of the lesson he strode from Lupin's classroom and heard the third-years relax into chatter behind him. They were mainly indignant he'd taught something unexpected, and furious he'd set them so much homework. They didn't know the real offence he'd committed – the reason Lupin would be furious, and with good reason, when he came back to teaching and found out what Severus had taught his class.

And whatever damage he had already done could be double, tripled, multiplied to infinity if the students began to cotton on. Hermione Granger would be first – he had seen her furrowing her brow and counting something on her fingers when she didn't realise he could see her. She would work it out quickly enough.

And Blaise Zabini, the cleverest Slytherin in his year, he had looked rather preoccupied, hadn't he? – and Zabini was a much more dangerous proposition than Granger if he did find out, since his uncle was editor of the Prophet. It would be the next day's front page, for certain, with long editorials baying for Lupin's blood. (A not unsuitable metaphor.)

Back in the dungeon he sat down at his desk, and stayed there for an hour, keeping very still, thinking.

He couldn't do anything about the students now – either they would work it out, or they wouldn't. The consequences for him and Lupin. The class would complain to Lupin, and Lupin would be horrified, and he might, surely he would, tell Dumbledore. And then what? Under some headmasters this would undoubtedly be a sacking offence – but, then again, most headmasters wouldn't have employed a werewolf in the first place. With Dumbledore you never really knew.

But a sharp reprimand, at least, seemed likely. It would be unpleasant, and he would have to give some kind of explanation, a formal apology. Lupin and Dumbledore would sit there looking at him with disappointment, and disapproval, and maybe even pity, for this sad man with such a vindictive and bitter set of motives.

Unexpectedly tears rose in his eyes, his throat tightening. It would look so deliberate to them – a calculated revenge with potentially far-reaching consequences – when really it had been a simple stress response.

In the old days such a mistake would have cost him his life. Nowadays it would only cost him respect and trust – and he was grateful for that, he really was grateful to be living in such safety – but respect and trust were important too, weren't they? – and he didn't want to expose Lupin, he honestly didn't – but for god's sake, why hadn't some work been left for him? – oh, christ, if only he could get some sleep – and why did Potter have to be such a little shit? – and why ––

No. He took a deep, shuddering breath. He had to stop spiralling. It had happened, he couldn't change it. The important thing now was what to do.


He was subdued for the rest of the day. The coconut ingredients arrived at lunchtime, and he had to show Julius Lottringer, his Belgian supplier, down to his store cupboards with the crates of bottles floating alongside them; but he didn't bother offering him lunch or even coffee, despite his long journey. Lottringer was courteous, but clearly a little offended as he bowed himself out.

In his afternoon classes Severus hardly spoke at all, simply waving the instructions onto the blackboard, then sitting down to mark essays while the class worked, taking a perfunctory tour of the room from time to time to mutter half-hearted rebukes. At dinner he arrived late so he could sit on the very end of the table, next to Filch, and apart from the grunt they exchanged in greeting, he said nothing at all. Afterwards he went straight back to the dungeon and began to unpack the crates, checking the bottles against the delivery notes, and holding one up to the light to get a sense of the liquid within.

It was nearly nine o'clock, and he was breathing more easily with the relief of not having to see anyone else that day, when there was a knock on the door.

He considered ignoring it. Then said reluctantly, 'Yes?'

The door opened, and the tiny figure of Filius Flitwick appeared, looking rather serious. 'Hello, Severus, sorry to disturb you, I was wondering if I might have a word with you about something?'

Severus blinked. 'Certainly.' He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Flitwick down here. The only member of staff who'd made the long trek down here lately was Lupin.

With a flick of his wand he brought a high stool over from one of the workbenches for Flitwick to perch on, and sat down behind his desk. Flitwick levitated himself up onto the stool and sat there, arranging his grey robes around his small body. He looked slightly embarrassed.

'Well?'

'It's a bit delicate, Severus – I hope you won't be angry, but – I happened to teach the third-year Gryffindor-Slytherin class this morning, just after their Defence lesson.'

Oh, shit.

Severus tried to keep his gaze steady. 'And?' he said.

'Well, they were a bit unsettled, and so, I'm sure I should have insisted they focus on the lesson but, I asked them what was the matter, and they told me you'd been teaching Lupin's lesson because he was ill, and you'd – that you'd – taught them about werewolves.'

'Yes. And?'

'Werewolves, Severus?' Flitwick said pointedly.

He tried to sound exasperated. 'No work had been left. I chose a topic from the third-year textbook. One that I suspect Lupin would much rather not to have to teach himself.'

This was not, actually, an implausible explanation. Dumbledore wouldn't believe it – and probably not Lupin either – but it might just do for now – and indeed Flitwick looked hesitant. Clearly he hadn't planned what to say in this scenario. It wouldn't take much more to make him back off now, he had never been good at confrontation. Mentally Severus prepared a few more biting remarks about the unfairness of being made to cover Lupin's classes as well as making the Wolfsbane, and hoped that would get rid of him.

But then Flitwick said something quite unexpected. 'Are you – are you having trouble sleeping, Severus?'

Severus narrowed his eyes. 'What does that have to do with anything?'

'Well – do forgive me saying this, but – you have looked somewhat unwell recently. I wondered if perhaps – having Lupin here, and all the worry with Sirius Black, it can't be easy' –

'We all have our cross to bear,' Severus said shortly. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I need to' –

'What I was going to say,' Flitwick went on hastily, 'is, if you would like, I can apply a charm to your bed to help you sleep.'

That silenced him. He stared at Flitwick. 'I've never heard of such a charm.'

'It's called Somnaclara,' Flitwick said. 'Unfortunately it's a little difficult, a little fiddly, otherwise I'm sure this would be used by the entire wizarding world, there would be no more need for sleeping potions.' He flashed an apologetic little smile. 'But once you get it right it's very effective, and there isn't much of a groggy feeling in the morning. And – there's no chance of getting addicted. I've used it myself when I've been feeling particularly anxious.'

Severus said nothing. He was slightly disconcerted by how much Flitwick seemed to know – about his sleep, and his worries about addiction –

'I was going to offer it to Remus too,' Flitwick added. 'I'd bet ten Sickles he isn't sleeping properly either, he's looked worse and worse all term. I did wonder, when Dumbledore – he always seems so sure of himself, but bringing Remus to work here, with your history, and Sirius Black and everything – I'm not sure he quite anticipated' –

Yes, well,' Severus said, cutting him off. That was a conversation he emphatically did not want to have. But – to sleeptonight – to wake up a little restored, and be ready to face Lupin when he reappeared … To be the Severus Snape of before, upright and controlled, serious and intelligent and productive …

Finally he said, 'If you – could – I mean – what does it involve, this charm? How long does it take?'

'About half an hour,' Flitwick said. 'It's a personal charm, so I'd need you there with me, and your wand for a part of it. But if you wish, we can go now, I'd like to see you looking better at breakfast.' He nodded at the half-unpacked crates of coconut ingredients. 'I'm sure you could finish those tomorrow.'

Severus took a deep breath. 'Yes – if you – I mean – yes.' It was all he could trust himself to say: his whole head felt light with joy and relief.

'Excellent!' Flitwick jumped off his high chair. 'Oh, and if you feel like repaying me with a few games of chess once you're feeling better, I certainly won't say no to that.'

Severus got up too, extinguishing his desk lamp and gathering up his wand and robes. 'Certainly. All we need to do is persuade Lupin to stop transforming into a wolf for a few months so I have some time to practise. Perhaps he could oblige in exchange for his sleeping charm?'

They went out of the dungeons, Flitwick laughing merrily, and Severus realised that he had just made a joke for the first time in weeks.


Less than an hour later, the charm was laid, Flitwick was gone, and Severus was standing alone in his room. His thanks to Flitwick had been brief and quiet, but heartfelt, and Flitwick had gripped his arm and beamed before leaving him.

Now it was time. He went over to the bed, somewhat apprehensive now – what if it didn't work? – and laid a hand on the dark green counterpane. Immediately a feeling of great ease and weariness rose up through his arm: the feeling of sleep. It was so strong, he let out a whimper of longing. He nearly lay down fully-clothed onto the bed there and then; but he managed to wash his face, clean his teeth, and change into his black nightshirt before getting under the covers.

And here it was: delicious, a wonderful drowsiness all through his body, like a faint wind over a dark sea. He fell asleep.


When he opened his eyes it was a chill, clear November morning, with the sun just rising over the frozen hills, and things felt a little better.


A/N: Apologies for such a long delay in publishing this chapter! And Happy Christmas to all who celebrate.